I scratched my forehead. I’d forgotten all about Soledad’s request. Not that I was seriously considering contacting the police about a missing man. If anything, I would accuse him of killing my husband.

“I said I would help her, but I’m no detective,” I told my sisters. “I offered to talk to the police since Doña Soledad said they won’t listen to her.”

“I just didn’t know who else to turn to”—Soledad looked at Angélica—“since you didn’t want to help.”

Angélica didn’t want to help?

“It’s not that I didn’t want to help, Soledad, don’t be stupid. But I told you, Franco is a grown man. I don’t see what is so strange about a man leaving this place to find new opportunities. I’m sure he’ll be back.”

“He didn’t move away, Doña Angélica. He left all his things, and besides, he said he would be back right away.”

“Soledad, don’t be so innocent, men are like that. They don’t need a lot of things to start over somewhere else. I’m sure he found something or someone interesting wherever he went that is keeping him away.”

I had a strange reaction to Angélica’s words. I used to make the same assumptions about men. In a lot of ways, I still did. But the more I impersonated Cristóbal, the more it affected my psyche. I almost took offense at Angélica’s comment; the way she trivialized men and bundled them all together as if they were one entity. Living as a man was having strange effects on me. For one, it was forcing me to see them as individuals. Cristóbal and Martin, for example, were different in so many ways I could no longer subscribe to the “all men are the same” mentality.

Catalina removed the measuring tape from her neck, her eyes on the floor, and she turned toward the sewing room. I wanted to follow her in, but what would I say? I spoke before she entered the room.

“You’re right, Doña Soledad. I made you a promise that I didn’t fulfill. Let’s go right now to the police station and report Franco’s disappearance.”

“You don’t have to do such a thing, Don Cristóbal,” Angélica said. “I can’t believe you’ve been bothering our guest with your problems, Soledad. I’ll take you myself.” She turned to the maid. “Julia, have her wait for me in the kitchen while I change.” With her hands in her pockets, Angélica headed for the stairs while Julia escorted Soledad to the kitchen.

This was my opportunity to talk to Catalina about Franco. I went into the sewing room.

“Are you all right, Doña Catalina?”

She was now sitting behind her sewing machine.

“You look pale,” I said.